Love in the Time of Carnaval
by Evelyn Ransom
Summary: Severus Snape joins Rodolphus Lestrange and a group of young Slytherins for a post-Hogwarts Carnaval celebration in Quebec. Snape learns some Lenten lessons in love, friendship, and Canadian tradition in this bizarre light-romantic comedy.
1. Invitations

First came the owl...

_Severus,  
Going to Quebec to view some of the old family estates. You must come. Carnaval and all that. Fatally dull. I'll need your dourness to cheer me up. Try to back out and I'll poison you. Rodolphus_

PS: Pack a hat.  
PPS: And a brush.

Then came the summons.

Since having graduated from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry the previous year, Severus Snape had not found himself the recipient of many invitations. This week he had been sent two. It was the first of these that he considered as he strode into the apartments indicated in the second.   
Rodolphus Lestrange's offer of Canadian travel was unusual but not terribly out of character for a young man of his whimsical nature. 

The second owl, from Lestrange's father, was a complete shock. Snape had never before come into contact with a man as powerful as the senior Lestrange, who was not only one of the Ministry's ambassadors without portfolio, but was rumoured to be one of the richest business owners both in England and abroad, and that on top of coming from a line of esteemed, if slightly deranged, aristocrats.  
This latter invitation ('_An appointment at 2 PM, if you would be so kind_') was to Snape a great epistolical puzzle, the point of which, he suspected, would be revealed in its own time.

'I'm here to see the Ambassador.'  
The man at the door was dressed in a footman's wigged livery with the small addition of a pink domino mask.   
'Show him in,' ordered an accented voice from within the mahogany doors of the study. The footman led Snape in with a look of reluctance - Snape couldn't decide whether this surliness stemmed from a dislike of the secondhand robes he wore or the servant's desire to remain, as much as possible, outside his employer's presence.

The study itself was enormous and smelled of suffocated cigars and leather. An angular man with sharp eyebrows and sad grey eyes adjusted his fine French shirt cuff and, looking at his cluttered desk, muttered, 'Leave us.'  
The footman withdrew and Snape was left to contemplate this man, almost the very image of his son, aside from the thinness that might come with age and an inescapable greying of the hair.  
'Mister Snape,' the ambassador announced to himself.   
Snape said nothing, ready for anything.

Or almost anything - Lestrange advanced quickly and, throwing his arms about Snape, hugged him closely. Severus thought he might never forget that aftershave.  
Suddenly pulling away and adjusting his tie, the elder Lestrange cleared his throat.  
'You would like an explanation? And you will have one. But first a drink. There are,' he added cryptically, 'formalities.'  
Lestrange stepped to a bookcase that revealed a concealed bar when manipulated, the glasses clinking in a very unbookish way.  
'Please, Mister Snape, make yourself at home.' Lestrange offered him a glass of brandy before pouring another. 'You are a friend of my son Rodolphus.' It wasn't a question, but Snape nodded anyway.   
'I, too, am his friend.' Here the older man smiled shyly. 'As much a friend as any son allows his father to be.' Lestrange shrugged as if to indicate a mystery incommunicable by words but somehow shared in all human experience. Severus only wished he owned such expressive shoulders. He sipped his brandy.

'As a "friend," I take interest in his comings and goings,' Lestrange winced at some unspoken critique and waved his hand protectively before himself. 'Spying? Perhaps. Yes, spying! And is it not a father's right?' Then, with a derisive thrust of his jaw, he indicated the desk covered in parchment.  
'And yet what does this skullduggery reveal, eh? Days, times, trysts, entanglements? Idiocy!' shouted the magnate. He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to calm himself. 'Idiocy,' he whispered softly. Snape had a much larger sip this time.

'Nothing is hidden from me, Mister Snape, nothing...except what matters. Except what is in here--' He tapped his temple lightly. 'And in here.' Lestrange held his hand above his own heart, perhaps counting its beats. Snape felt that it might be appropriate at this point if one of them cried.  
'Ambassador, I--'  
Lestrange's index finger weaved through the air like a drunken hummingbird as he shushed Snape.  
'You wonder why I tell you this, yes. Why we speak man to man--while my son is...' Lestrange consulted a paper on his desk. 'Carousing at the Black Hound Public House.'  
Snape suspected he knew the reason for this little tete-a-tete, but, determined to fulfill his role, quoted, 'Ay, my lord, I would know that.'

Lestrange, oblivious to the reference, plunged on. 'I will tell you then, Mister Snape, Mister Severus Snape. A good British name, Snape. Is it Welsh?'  
'No.'  
'No?' Lestrange digested this. 'No. Snape.' He rolled the name on his tongue. 'A good name regardless. Short, to the point, a trifle puritanical, perhaps. A good family, also, a pure family. Snape stared at the man, drinking in his brandy, if not his words.  
'A shame, some might say a crime, that such a family should be without standing or connection, that the scion of such a house should languish in poverty.'   
Snape tried to object, but his protest was cut short.  
'Poverty, yes. I have said it! Am I a bore? No. We stand here as two men, two friends of my son, one immensely rich, the other laughably poor. Such is the world, my young friend.'   
Lestrange refilled Snape's glass. 'Perhaps not in the workhouse yet, though? And with our little added income...'  
Snape eyed Lestrange warily. This insane buffoon was, after all, one of the most influential men in Europe, if not the world.   
'Yes, the little subsidy from providing, discreetly and, I'm sure, for a fair price, such potions as might facilitate feelings in a man that...well, shall we say, such potions as are regarded as dangerous by the authorities, though highly demanded by a select group of initiates.' Lestrange banged his fist on the bookend bar, causing glasses to shake, before hastily adding, 'Fear not, my friend, I will not compromise you! No, not I!' Lestrange's eyes twinkled. Snape could ever hear the unspoken words hang, heavily accented, in the air.  
'But others, perhaps?'  
'I'm not sure I know what you're talking about, sir,' Snape lied.  
Lestrange ignored him. 'It is forgivable. Yes, here, I forgive it...and so,' he noted as an afterthought, 'does God. All is forgivable in an artist. And is not what you do with your little dusts and cauldrons and baby fat an art? It is, as I thought. Yes. You are an artist, Mister Snape, and artists must be forgiven, and artists must be supported.'  
Snape's head was spinning. He wasn't sure if it was from the brandy or Lestrange's bizarre rhetoric.  
'And I, do not laugh, am a friend to the arts.'  
_Wonderful_, thought Snape, _a friend to Rodolphus, then me, and now the arts. You must do a lot of visiting._

He had to say something. 'If you're interested in Rodolphus' doings, surely his brother--'  
Lestrange coughed. 'Rabastan? No. No, I think not. I will reveal to you in confidence--strictest confidence--that Rabastan, well, he is a disappointment. Now, I've revealed myself! A matter of the public record. My son is a cretin.  
'All I ask from you, Mister Snape, is that you be a friend to Rodolphus...and to me also. Stay with him. Shield him from the danger of this world and listen to what he has here.' Again Lestrange gestured to his head. 'And most importantly here.' The manicured hand hovered sensitively above that organ which the Egyptians took to be the seat of reason, and then, in a flourish, snatched the silk handkerchief from an inside pocket before daubing the owner's eyes. 

Snape lifted Lestrange's untouched glass and downed the very expensive brandy like a shot. 'How much money?' he asked.  
Lestrange smiled. 'Mister Snape, truly--you are an artist.' 


	2. Old Friends

Safe in the warmth of the little cafe, Snape stirred his hot cocoa. He had accepted Rodolphus Lestrange's invitation and had now been in Quebec for a little over one wasted and frozen fortnight. He let the chocolate drip off the spoon before laying it carefully on the saucer. 

The door was thrown open, nearly destroying the little bell that hung above it, and a blast of frigid air caused the somber patrons to noiselessly turn their heads to the new arrival with a gesture of mass disapproval.  
_'Bonsoir, mademoiselle!"_ shouted Regulus Black. _'Bonsoir, tout le monde!'_ Snape sighed and tried to ignore Black as he stamped his snowy shoes and scanned the assembled faces in search of his quarry.  
'Ah, there you are, Sev! Don't be such an antisocial brute. Your talents are needed elsewhere. _Vite, vite!'_  
Black then horrified a diner by prodding the poor man's croissant. 'Try the poutine. I hear it's vile.'  
Severus finished his cocoa and shrugged apologetically to the waitstaff before leaving a generous tip and crumpled serviette. Regulus Black, the parasite, held the door for him as they left.  
'Bella was looking for you. Things have gone all dull.'  
Snape said nothing. Bellatrix Black was the reason for Regulus' presence here, and, truth be told, his own. 

When he had arrived in Canada, Rodolphus had given him an abbreviated tour of the Lestrange estate.   
'Hope you like your rooms, Severus. The house elves nearly wept when I told them how many people would be coming.'  
Snape paused. 'And how many would that be?'  
'Oh, well, you, me, Rabastan, of course. Bellatrix...'  
'Bellatrix Black?'  
'Yes, and she's bringing her cousin, Regulus. Close family and all that.'  
'God.'  
'Bertha Jorkins, you know her? And Nott. Nott's a good sort.'  
Severus sat down lightly on one of the halls' straight-backed chairs. 'Why am I here, Rodolphus?'  
'What? I don't see what you mean. Everyone knows that Severus Snape is the life of the party.'  
Severus narrowed his eyes. 'Am I?'  
'Well...no. But damn it, I need you here, Severus. I need your skills.' 

Black waited for Snape to catch up.   
'Tell me, Black, which one of my many talents is required by her highness today?'  
'You'll see,' replied Regulus enigmatically.  
They walked for some blocks before reaching an out-of-the-way handmade shoe boutique.   
With a bow, slightly too elaborate to be witty, Regulus ushered Snape inside.  
_'Non, je ne les voudrais pas.'_  
Bellatrix Black.

'I'm in love with her, Severus,' Rodolphus had told him. Lestrange's normally nervous disposition had become almost antic as he had confessed to Snape his one, true, burning love. 'I can't get her out of my head.'  
'So sleep with her. From what I've heard, it shouldn't take much persuading.'  
Rodolphus considered striking Snape, but thinking better of it, decided to try a different tack.  
'I love her and I want to marry her. I'm deadly serious. And I need your help, Severus.'  
'Explain.'  
'I need you to make for me a love potion.' Rodolphus couldn't bring himself to meet Snape's eyes. The loud snort that issued from the potion maker was humiliation enough.

Bellatrix turned to look at him. She smiled wryly. 'You're here, Severus? I hope we didn't pull you away from anything too pressing.' Regulus chuckled. The others circled her as if she were a queen and they her courtiers. Rodolphus spoke a quiet word to the clerk, who was rushing to the back to find another style of shoe. Bertha Jorkins gossiped to Rabastan in a corner, and Nott was, well, Nott.

Snape took a chair across from Bellatrix.  
'You see, Severus, how difficult it is for me? I don't see anything I like.' She lifted a bare foot and stretched it out towards him, resting the sole on the top of the clerk's stool. Snape, aware of the challenge implied in the gesture, let his eyes roam freely up her leg to where her skirt was now slightly lifted to reveal the rounded bottom of her thigh. He smiled at her.   
'None of us, not even you, can always get what we want.'  
'How original. I suppose I should learn to settle.' She withdrew her foot as the clerk returned with an armful of exquisite shoes.  
Snape fished in his pocket for a cigarette. 'Learn,' he advised, holding her eye, 'to be disappointed.'

'You're bound to be disappointed,' Snape had warned Rodolphus. 'That's the nature of love potions.'  
'I just want her to be mine.'  
'She'll be yours in body and in mind, but in spirit? No. Every time you look into those adoring, pleading eyes, you'll see a soul struggling to escape. Not very pretty.'  
'Speaking from experience?' shot Rodolphus bitterly. Snape just smiled and, palms upward, mimed innocence.  
Lestrange collapsed. 'What can I do, Severus? I need her. Help me!'  
'I will make you a potion,' Severus decided wearily.  
'To make her love me?'  
'Better. To make you forget her. The Draught of Lethe. You will drink it and forget her. She will be dead to you.'  
'No,' whispered Rodolphus, horrified.  
'After I have the necessary parts, it should take me two weeks to complete. That should give you ample time to win her heart, if she has one. Two weeks.'  
'And if I refuse?'  
Snape smiled coldly. 'You won't, Rodolphus. You have asked for my help and you will receive it. Anyway, what are two weeks when you're young and in love?' 


	3. Dining In

'I had a damned hard time trying to get the school's permission to come on this little jaunt,' revealed Regulus as he mangled his salmon steak. 'Final year and all that. Mere had to fairly plead with the governors. Think she said it would be necessary to my career with the foreign office. Practice my frog and whatnot. She's a sweet old cow, really, Mother.'  
Rodolphus viewed Regulus with barely-veiled disgust. 'What an ambitious cousin you have, Bellatrix. Already has his future planned.'  
'Would we were all so fortunate,' piped Nott, as a house elf refilled his glass. 'I suppose this is our last hurrah together as children. Soon we shall have to start over as adults.'  
'What will you do, Theodore?' Bertha Jorkins asked with interest.  
Rodolphus answered for him. 'Nott shall, like myself, enter that shadowy world of our fathers--finance.'  
Nott winced. 'Oh, that word.'  
Rodolphus smiled rakishly, warming to his subject. 'Yes, while Nott and I walk to the patrilineal halls of power, the rest of you will no doubt be consigned to penury.' His eyes flicked to Bellatrix. 'With exceptions. Though I suppose, Rabastan, you could always take holy orders.' Here Rodolphus crossed himself. 'Get thee to a monastery, yes, Brother Rabastan?'

Rabastan squirmed in his black and utilitarian robes. Snape could certainly see some narrow-minded fervor waiting to burn in those dark and thoughtless eyes. In fact, Rabastan seemed cut from the very cloth of those grim and distrustful little men who terrified their congregations with hellfire and social ridicule in days gone by. Probably a flagellant, too.  
'Don't be an ass,' growled Rabastan, blushing furiously.  
Bertha Jorkins volunteered, 'I should like to start my own scandal sheet someday, but I suppose I'll just get some job like Mother's in the Ministry. Weekends off sort of thing.  
'How 'bout you, Bella?' Regulus asked. 'Should we expect to find you covered in grease and working in a chip shop?'

Bellatrix looked up dreamily from her plate. 'No, I am going to be someone's muse.'  
'Not some damned painters, I hope!' began Regulus, but Rodolphus hushed him.  
'Go on, Bellatrix.'  
Bellatrix closed her eyes. 'I will find someone, a man, I think. A great man. And I will be his inspiration, his guiding light. I will give life to his work, and he will give me...' She broke off and shyly looked at the clock.   
And for Severus, it was as if he had seen her for the first time.

'I believe,' quipped Nott, 'that money would be the other commodity in that sort of arrangement.'  
'Bastard,' laughed Bellatrix, and for a few moments, the table was taken by a fit of the giggles.  
'Hang on,' complained Rodolphus, interrupting the revels, 'Severus hasn't told us what he's going to do.'  
'Oh, I know that,' smirked Bertha. 'I eavesdropped when he was getting his career advice back at school.' She paused to drink some more wine. 'Severus is going to be an Auror.'  
From across the table, Snape felt Nott's eyes upon him.  
'Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?'

As Snape climbed the carpeted stairs to his rooms, Rabastan hailed him and asked him into the library for a quick word. Snape chose for himself a comfortable antique armchair while Rabastan paced.  
'I'm no good with words, you know. But I feel I must tell someone. And I think that you--' Here Rabastan stopped and turned to face Severus. '--would understand me.'  
'I'm listening.'  
'I'm...I've...I think I've fallen in love.'  
'There's that word again.'  
'Sorry?'  
'Never mind. Is there something to drink in here?'  
Rabastan gestured towards a small bar and continued his story.  
'I'm the second son. I know that. But I'm still rich. Frightfully rich, really.'  
'How difficult for you.'  
'And I know I'm not as handsome or clever as Rodolphus. But I'm not unattractive, damn it. In fact, some people find me quite lovable.'  
Upon this point Snape did not speculate, but drank instead.  
'I think I would make a good catch. And it would be good for our families as well. The Blacks are almost as well-established as the Lestranges. At least in England. They may even be ahead of us.'  
Now Rabastan had Snape's full attention. 'Go on.'  
'So from that angle I can't see any objections. But I'm not sure how to proceed. I'm such an ox at these things. I've tried writing a poem--care to hear it?'  
'I would be delighted.'  
Rabastan pulled a small parchment from his robes and read in his best sermon voice.

_There comes a point in the life of man  
when he realises he needs a friend_

Rabstan took great care to make the ends of each line rhyme, no matter how disturbed the pronunciation.

_And I would give my gold, my soul  
if that friend would be you.  
Your long black hair is shiny  
like the youths of Araby  
and your eyes sparkle like gems  
with the depth of the River Thames.  
Of your lips I daren't speak  
for to mention dreams I think indiscreet,  
but none will love you better  
than I and it's forever._

Snape was too stunned to speak.  
'What do you think?'  
Snape finished his drink. 'With words like those, how can Bellatrix help but love you?'  
'Bellatrix? What do you mean? I was--'  
In an instant both their minds experienced confusion followed immediately by a horrifying sense of realisation. This would be a moment to forget.  
'Yes. Of course. Bellatrix. I love her a lot. Well, awful long day, best get to bed.' Rabastan shook Snape's hand ridiculously and hurried from the room.

Minutes later Snape was asking himself just how he had gotten mixed up in this madness when, upon opening the door to his room, he was greeted by the sight of Bertha Jorkins lying naked in his bed.  
'Hello, Severus.' She let the sheet slip, exposing her large breasts.  
Snape sat down at the edge of the bed and lightly grabbed her ankle. 'Bertha,' he yawned, 'why are you in my bed?'  
'I was lonely. Don't you find me attractive?'  
He flung her leg over and sat down in the spot it had recently occupied.  
Snape thought. 'Yes, in a cheap sort of way.'  
Bertha was almost hurt but decided it was better than nothing. 'Well, get in!' she laughed.  
Severus looked at the window. Absently he rubbed his hand along her calf. 'Rabastan just spoke to me in the library.'  
'Really? Did he tell you he's a nancy boy and loves Regulus? Poor old poof.'  
'Yes. I think he believed I was queer as well. Where would be get an idea like that, Bertha?'  
'I told him you were.'  
'And why would you do that?'  
'Make him feel better? Actually, I hoped we could all three get together tonight.' She clutched at Snape's robes, but he pinned her wrist.  
'Not tonight, Bertha. I'm thinking. Try Nott. He's two doors down on the left.' He rolled her out of the bed and onto the floor.  
'Filth. Oily, greasy eunuch,' Bertha hissed as Severus pushed her from the room. He went to check on the Draught of Lethe in his study. Soon it would be ready. But would Rodolphus have succeeded by then?

That night Snape dreamt that there was someone in bed with him. He ran his hands over her thin, naked body, tasting her pale skin and running his fingers through her hair as she laughed that high, pure laugh and fought playfully against him as he made love to her. When he woke, he know he was absolutely alone. 


	4. Thin Ice

During the night, a blanket of snow had been neatly deposited atop Chateau Lestrange. House elves bustled along the hidden servants' passage, melting ice and patching leaks. In their rooms, the wizards slept comfortably. When they awoke sometime in the afternoon, they washed (those that cared about such things), dressed in their warmest clothes, and met Rodolphus in the reception hall.  
'I hope you all packed a toque, 'cause we're going out tonight--and I mean out.'

The table was set at the center of a small, frozen lake. Braziers roared 'round the lavish display of food and drink, bringing magical light and warmth to the otherwise desolate landscape. 

The meal was an extravagant affair and a gastronomic masterpiece. As soon as the pudding was finished Nott leaned back in his chair and yawned, 'Excellent, Rodolphus. A beautiful night! What next?'  
Rodolphus rose. 'Now we skate.'

Chairs were whistled away. Pairs of ice skates were produced, one for each guest (Snape declined his) and the party began to wheel across the ice in a mix of graceful and graceless arcs.

Severus sat and watched the others. Rabastan clumsily followed Regulus' long lean strides with a hungry determination. Bertha had evidently made use of Nott's assets the night before, as there they were thick as thieves, laughing as they caused each other to become unbalanced and crash into the ice, all windmilling arms and hesitant legs.

A small way away, Rodolphus skated slowly, holding Bellatrix's hand. He was a very good skater, Severus saw, poised and athletic. Bellatrix was not overly familiar with this peculiar means of locomotion and Rodolphus coached and coaxed her with honest patience and growing pride that was unmistakable and, thought Snape, annoying.  
Suddenly Bellatrix kicked away and sailed slowly but steadily across the ice. Rodolphus met her pace and stayed by her side. She laughed, giddy with her own little skill. Their fingers interlaced.

Snape looked away. He saw the house elves sitting at the periphery, drawing deep breaths from their long pipes. They watched their master on the ice, practically dancing. And what did they think of her? he wondered. Did they see her as their future mistress? Did they know what was in Rodolphus' mind as he adjusted her muffler? The servants always know.

Soon horse-drawn sleighs appeared. Taller, cruel-looking elves with whips and czarist uniforms drove them onto the lake.   
Three sleighs for six passengers. Rodolphus would be required to stay behind temporarily while the illusion of the beautiful supper was dismantled. He guided Severus towards the sleigh in which Bellatrix waited.  
'I think she thaws, Severus. Damn me, but I think so! Keep up the heat. Be my man and tell her of my virtues, my more comic vices. Advertise me! I'm almost there.'  
Snape stopped Lestrange and silenced him with a look. 'One more night and the potion is finished, Rodolphus.'

Rodolphus went pale and Snape turned away. When he reached the sleigh, Regulus was about to climb in.  
'Oh, Sev, I thought I'd ride with cousin Bella.'  
'You were wrong,' bristled Snape, brushing him aside. 'Go ride with Rabastan. He likes you--which just goes to show that taste has nothing to do with genetics.'  
Bellatrix chuckled as Regulus stalked angrily away and Severus arranged himself beside her.  
'Fighting to sit next to me, Severus?'  
'Don't be so flattered. You happen to smell better than Rabastan.'  
'Always the romantic.'  
The little elf driver looked to them and smiled, showing sharp white teeth. He snapped the rein and with a 'Hah!' they were off.

Bellatrix tucked the rugs around them, purposefully bringing her warm body closer to Severus than was absolutely necessary.  
'Haven't you had enough yet?' he asked her. 'He loves you, you know.'  
'Who? Rodolphus?' She made herself more comfortable and him infinitely less so. 'Yes, I've realised that. And I can't say I'm not tempted, but...'  
Severus shielded his cigarette against the chill wind as he tried to light it. She watched him as he forgot to offer her one.  
'But what?' he asked after his first drag.  
Bellatrix watched the icy snowscape shift by in dark, endless furrows.  
'Maybe he isn't mean enough. Not that he should be mean to me--but--he lacks gravity.'  
Snape snorted. It may have been a laugh. Bellatrix interpreted as one of the derisive sort. She blushed and pulled the cigarette from his lips.  
'And you, Severus? You, who speaks so freely of love? What the hell do you know?'  
She puffed the cigarette bitterly and then her face relaxed. She parted her dark hair down the middle. He eyed her with growing irritation.  
'I...am Severus Snape,' she began, imitating the timbre and pacing of his words. 'Master of the Dark Arts...I have no...need for...' Here she quirked an eyebrow. 'Emotion.'

She laughed and pitched the cigarette into the blackness. Snape said nothing.  
'What? Didn't I do it silkily enough?'  
'You will never understand what real feelings are. Your kind...'  
'And what about my kind?' she demanded.  
'The untested. How can you know what love is, you who have never felt true pain? You exist as if in a dream, careless to the point of self-deception. Can't you see how alone we are?'  
'Why, Severus, I do believe you think yourself unloved.'  
'Don't mock me,' he warned.  
'Then tell me what you mean. I can't decode angst.' She added, 'Please.'

'There's nothing to tell. Maybe I've lost the plot.' He was babbling and knew it but he couldn't bring himself to stop. He wanted her to know...to understand. 'Somehow it all seems insincere. Everything. I've come to distrust feelings--I've never seen love--not that kind of connection it's meant to be. It's like we're all wrapped up in ourselves and only pretend we're connecting with someone else. Maybe there is nothing outside of us. Does that make sense?'  
She nodded, watching him with half-closed eyes, and leaned against him.  
'I'm in my own little world. We all are, really, and nothing can reach us. The outside world is like some far-off, imaginary country. I'd always thought that some day, something might reach into my world. Someone from outside. I always dreamed it would wake me up, force me to pull out of myself.'

He looked at her and saw that she had fallen asleep on his shoulder, her little body rising with soft, regular breaths.  
'Am I just telling myself that's what's happening? Imagining that finally someone's knocking on the door, telling me to work up? I don't know if I love you, Bellatrix, but I think I could.'

The bells of the sleigh jingled as it rounded a corner. Aside from as occasional 'Tut!' from the driver, its passengers spoke no more. 


	5. Last Night of Carnaval

Snape awoke the next afternoon feeling rested and determined. He had come to a decision in the night, or perhaps it would be better described as a realization.

He dressed quickly and stopped to comb his hair. _How foolish I have been_, he thought, casting his mind back. It was as if he were looking at some stranger's past. It certainly had no bearing on the future of the man who now walked resolutely toward Bellatrix's room. 

He practiced the words in his head. _'I felt so sure of myself before I met you. Being near you in these past weeks has made me realise how incomplete I am. How much I need someone to fill that part of me that I've denied, or lost. Someone...'_ He knocked but no one answered. Trying the knob, he found the door opened easily.   
'Hello?'  
The room seemed empty at first. Then he heard a splash of water from the bath.   
Snape silently approached the door, listening, his heart pounding. It was not exactly how he had imagined this moment--but the idea of soft, soapy, wet skin did appeal to him on a level he was loath to acknowledge. He was deliberating whether or not to check the keyhole when a voice came from the little room.  
'Bella, did you use my soap?'

It was Regulus. Regulus fucking Black. Snape opened the door. Black stood naked before the mirror, dripping water onto an abused towel.   
'I say,' he said.  
'What are you doing here?' Snape hissed.  
Regulus looked at Snape as if he were mad, and then recalling what Bertha Jorkins had told him about the man, quickly covered his privates with a shaving bag.  
'Get out, you--crazy bugger!' squealed Regulus as Snape trembled with wrath. Severus could see Bellatrix return from last night's sleigh ride, giddy and laughing, only too happy to relieve her tension through a quick game of hide-the-wand with her own cousin. God, he looks enough like her. That was probably a turn-on.  
'A close family? Snape spat. 'You make me sick, you incestuous twit.'  
'Now hang on a minute, Sniv--Severus!'  
Snape's hand snapped through the air, its knuckles reddening Regulus' cheek. Black stared at him in open-mouthed shock.  
'Were you a man, Black, and not that woman's creature, I would kill you. But today you warrant less of my attention than I have already bestowed.' Snape turned quickly on his heel and, white with rage, slipped out of the room.  
For a moment Black stood motionless, unsure what to do. Then he began to brush his teeth.

It had been dark for some time when Bellatrix reached the fairgrounds. She had left the rest of the party behind to enjoy this one last night of Carnaval.

She bought herself a sticky ice cone and wandered amongst the exhibits. Couples and children smiled at her and she smiled back. It began to snow lightly and she tightened the side flaps of her dark pommed hat.

She had wandered thoughtlessly for an hour, maybe two, when she came to the Ice Palace--a massive magical construct with a frozen moat and high turrets. She crossed the drawbridge and explored the halls, reaching out with her mittened hands to touch the beautiful sculptures with childlike awe.  
In the Snow Queen's chamber, she brought her face close to the ice mirror which hung on the frosted translucent walls. Cold blue torches lit the room in shadowy arcs behind her. She could almost make out her reflection in the false looking-glass. She leaned closer to it.

'What do you see?' asked a strange voice. She turned but saw no one.  
'What do you see in the mirror, Bellatrix Black?' the deep voice asked again.  
Bellatrix moved for the door. 'Who's there?' she whispered, then louder, 'Who are you?'

A figure stepped out from the shadows. It was a tall, rounded stranger with a hat. Bellatrix laughed nervously when she saw it was a man dressed in a thick white snowman costume with a bright belt.   
'You never answered my question, Bellatrix.'  
'Nor you mine. Who are you that you use my name?'  
The figure tilted its large head. The smile that hung on its face seemed like a leer.   
'I am Bonhomme Carnaval. This is my palace. I am the Spirit of Carnaval. I am all the snowmen children create before they lose their youth,' it said, walking toward her.  
Bellatrix backed away. 'Be careful, little snowman, that I don't melt you.'  
Bonhomme laughed unpleasantly. 'Yes, you have a fiery temper, but your heart is cold like ice. How fitting for one so frigid to stand alone in the Snow Queen's room.'  
'How dare you speak of my heart, you sexless toy!'  
'I dare because here you are nothing, and I am everything. You have stumbled into my domain. You have no power here. Look into the mirror!' commanded Bonhomme, his voice at once mysterious and familiar. Bellatrix obeyed. She stared at her own distorted visage, her face smeared across the ice like a blotted watercolour. She felt him draw nearer.

'You have no power here, Bellatrix,' he told her quietly, 'but I will protect you. Don't be afraid. Now, what do you see?'  
Listening to the soothing tones of his voice, she found herself relaxing against her better judgment. 'I see myself.'  
'Really? Is that blurry mess you?'  
'It's my reflection.'  
'It's not the real you?'  
She knew Bonhomme was close behind her, but she had lost the will to move. 'No, it's not me.'

Bonhomme began to circle her slowly. 'Describe yourself to me, Bellatrix.'  
'I'm beautiful,' she told him, her eyes fixed on the blob in the ice mirror.  
'Beauty, physical beauty, never lasts. You know that. How long do you study yourself in those other mirrors, looking for wrinkles, hunting out grey hairs? Your beauty is marked by cruelty, Bellatrix.'  
'No,' she argued without force.  
'You know it's true. One day you will no longer be beautiful.'  
'Will they love me still?'   
Bonhomme stopped and looked at her. 'Yes. Some would. Even without your beauty. Or perhaps especially without it.'  
'Why?' She inched closer to the glass and, removing her mitten, tried to wipe away her reflection. 'I have nothing else.'  
'Don't you, Bellatrix?' Bonhomme watched her.  
'I have nothing else. I'll be old soon. Soon.'  
'And then?'

She slid to the floor slowly.  
'What do you see in the mirror, Bellatrix?' Bonhomme asked, his black eyes and smile towering over her.  
'I see...nothing. Help me.'  
Bonhomme crouched next to her. 'How, Bellatrix?'  
'I'm so empty,' she sobbed. 'I have nothing. I can't eve tell if I'm feeling anything or pretending I do. I...I don't exist.'  
'I can give you meaning,' Bonhomme promised her. 'Love me, Bellatrix, and I will give meaning to your life.'  
She rocked back and forth, crying. 'Yes, I will love you. Oh, please, God, just give me something to fill this void.'  
'Love me.'  
'Oh, Bonhomme, it's so cold. I love you, but it's so cold.'  
Bonhomme cradled Bellatrix in his arms as she cried, her tears freezing as they hit the ground. With his soft, fingerless white hands, he brushed away her hair. 

When the figure in the snowman costume staggered out of the Ice Palace, Rodolphus ran to him.  
'What happened?'  
Severus Snape shook off the Bonhomme head and whispered something.  
Rodolphus stared at his friend in alarm. Snape's hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat and his eyes were red.  
'What, Severus?'  
'Go to her, you fool! It is done.'   
Rodolphus laughed, pulling on the head of his own Bonhomme suit, and did a little jig as he sprinted into the Ice Palace.

When Lestrange was out of sight, Snape dropped to his knees and retched in the snow.   
Some drunken shouts went up in the distance. It was just after midnight. Carnaval was over.  
  
**

Epilogue

**  
  
Sitting at a writing desk at the Chateau Lestrange, Severus Snape gulped from a small silver flask. He gritted his teeth as the bitter Draught of Lethe crept down his throat. The imperious-looking owl he had borrowed hooted at him impatiently. He toasted with the flask and drank again. Then, picking up a quill he wrote, 'Ash Wednesday, Quebec'. He checked the clock. Soon the potion would do its work. There was such little time.

_My Dear Mister Ambassador,_

I write to you as per your wishes but also for a more personal reason. I believe that you alone among men might understand that strange tale that I am about to lay out before you. I am confident that you will not judge me too harshly and in some way I might receive from you some sort of absolution or perhaps a benediction...  
The story is one of Carnaval and its revels, of youth, and most dangerously of love... 


End file.
